December 2014

I have been asked many times over the past few weeks how I am doing … if I could collect my thoughts in the moment, this would be my response …

Walking in grief is like walking along the ocean’s edge during a raging storm. Grief billows through my life in dark clouds. There are moments, sometimes even hours, that the clouds part and I can see glimpses of the sun. The storm is still there, but the pain that it exerts is lessened.

The waves crashing in on the shore are like the unexpected moments of grief. The tears in a store as I stand behind a woman in the checkout with a newborn baby girl. The raw emotion that my boys share with me about their grief of losing their baby sister. The many wakeful hours of every night that I go over every single part of Abigail’s face in my mind. Her little hands, her little feet. The feel of her hair under my chin. The feel of my kiss on her forehead. I am desperate to not forget those things. I miss my baby girl so bad that my arms ache at night and I sleep with a teddy bear to help that. Each Tuesday I spend a lot of the time thinking about what she would look like now. How much weight she would have gained. If we had been able to keep her. The tears come at random times. Simply sliding down my cheeks, without warning.

But the beach is always there. Steady and firm under foot. The beach is like my friend who whisked me away for a pedicure and manicure to bring some normalcy and fun to my day. Or my friend who has spent one of her days off each of the last two weeks entertaining my boys. Or the feel of my husband’s hand in mine as we go for a late night walk. Or my normally independent son telling me randomly through the day that he loves me. The list goes on and like the expanse of a beach, there have been numerous times we’ve been reminded, by friends and family, in many ways of how very loved we are.

The storm will lessen. The view of the world will look differently after the storm fades away. And the walk on the beach will always be in my memory. The experience will become a part of the fabric of my life. Abigail will always be in my heart. But, there are many moments of laughter and joy. Many, many moments. Life is beautiful and I am so blessed.

I am doing okay. Walking through my storm.

December 10, 2014

I truly hope that at the end of my life that this will be true of me. In all important things, may I never give up.

December 12, 2014

The waves of grief in my life, this week, have relentlessly smashed against the shore, seemingly without breaks in them. But there is still great beauty and many things to be grateful for in the midst of my storm. ~~ Precious photographs of our Abigail from our photographer, along with a touching photo book that she made for you. ~~ My husband who has never, not once, even intimated that he is tired of my grieving. Instead, he has always wrapped his arms around me, or held my hand tightly, and reminded me of how very much he loves me. While listening to my sobs or, occasionally, my angry words about the injustices of this world and it’s suffering. ~~ Crochet projects to work on … the rhythm and movement of my hook soothes my soul. ~~ Random declarations of “I love you, Mommy!” and hugs and kisses from my boys. ~~ The lights on the Christmas tree, along with Christmas music playing.

The glimpses of sunlight, through the storm, are breathtakingly beautiful. Life is beautiful.